


Happy Thanksgiving, Now Get OUT OF THE KITCHEN

by Narassi



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Donut and Wash centric, Fluff, M/M, Thanksgiving, That's all it is folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 05:23:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8652580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narassi/pseuds/Narassi
Summary: Donut and Wash attempt to cook the first real Thanksgiving dinner the Reds and Blues have had in years. The catch? Wash can't cook.Donut may or may not demote him to kitchen-guard-dog.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is set somewhere between Seasons 12 and 13. I really don't have context other than "It's Thanksgiving, I'm gonna write and Thanksgiving fic."  
> This is my first time writing Washnut as a ship...I hope whoever reads this enjoys it!  
> Sorry it's not Thanksgiving day when I posted this...I, uh, kind of wrote it last night after my family left. I finished it at like midnight xD
> 
> Enjoy, and don't forget to comment! =)

Wash stared at Donut.

Donut stared at Wash.

A thawed, but yet uncooked, turkey sat in a tin on the tiny kitchen table between them.

Grif and Simmons were by the pantry, on the other side of the room. Both reds stood frozen, Grif’s hand even hovered midair above a box of poptarts. Sarge froze in the doorway.

“What did you just say?” Donut finally asked, crossing his arms. His voice was low and even.  

Silence took over again. 

Sarge shook his head minutely. He whispered, “nope,” and walked out of the kitchen. Simmons grabbed Grif with one hand and the box of poptarts with the other, and quickly exited the kitchen.

Wash rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I—I don’t know how to cook.”

Donut took a long and deep breath before letting it out slowly. “You don’t know how to cook.” Donut repeated.

Wash shook his head.

Donut sighed deeply again. “You’re a thirty year old man, Wash. How do you not know how to cook?”

Wash shrugged. “I don’t know! When I was stationed on the MoI we weren’t allowed in the kitchen. After that I didn’t _have_ a kitchen until we got to Blue Base, and, uh. We had MREs...” Wash trailed off uncomfortably.

Donut flopped dramatically down into a chair. “I have to cook Thanksgiving dinner by myself.” The lightish-red solder put his head in his hands.

Wash shook his head quickly. “No, no, I’ll help! I just don’t know how. You can show me how to do it.”

Donut slammed his hands on the table angrily. “Oh no. I’m not falling for that again. Simmons said the same thing three years ago and we ended up burning everything but the turkey, which was undercooked. We absolutely _ruined_ dinner.”

Wash gripped his elbows tightly in discomfort. “I—I—there has to be _something_ I can do! I won’t get in the way like they do when you cook, and I’ll keep everyone else out of the kitchen for you.” Donut looked at him doubtfully, so he continued. “I’ll do as much or as little as you want me to. I could just pass you ingredients, or I could help you...uh. Whatever.”

Donut put his head in his hands again. “I really wanted our first Thanksgiving as a couple to be perfect.”

Wash’s eyes widened in alarm. “It still can be! Please let me help? If you want, I could just sit wherever you want me to and guard the entrance while keeping you company.”

Donut lowered his hands and leaned back in his chair. “If you mess this up—”

“I’ll never help you cook again unless you want me to.” Wash finished for him.

Donut sighed. “Fine. Let’s see how this goes.”

 

* * *

 

 

Now, Wash knew his and Donut’s relationship was far from perfect.

It’s not that their relationship was bad—it really wasn’t. It’s just, there were times when they didn’t get along, or when the other Reds and Blues got in the way somehow, or life got in the way. In other words, there were times when their relationship was just _strained_.

This was not one of those times.

Wash sat on the counter next to Donut as the other man checked the turkey. They’d spent the whole day so far cooking, cleaning, and decorating. Well, Donut had cooked, and Wash had cleaned and decorated. He’d also guarded the door. Grif hadn’t been happy to discover that Donut had found a guard dog for Thanksgiving dinner.

The first time Grif had wandered in, Wash had simply turned from where he’d been washing dishes and pointed to the doorway and said, “out.” The orange soldier had frozen, taken one look at the murderous look on Wash’s face, and turned around and walked back out.

The second time, Wash had to literally drag him out.

The third time, Wash had grabbed Grif by the ear. The resulting squawk had been heard throughout the halls.

The fourth time, Wash _just so happened_ to be cutting yams with a very sharp knife. Grif didn’t quite set foot in the kitchen before running away.

Grif didn’t come back after that.

Simmons asked for permission to come in to put the poptarts back at one point, and Sarge had wandered in to grab something from the fridge. Wash had eyed both men warily, but made no move to shoo them away.

Anyways. As far as Wash was concerned, today was going perfectly. After the argument, he and Donut got along just fine. They worked well together, as usual. Wash didn’t actually cook anything; he handed Donut whatever he needed, he cut the yams, he cleaned the dishes and utensils Donut used, and generally did whatever he could to make cooking easier. They also may or may not have danced to the music coming from the living room at one point.

Thanksgiving was never a holiday that Wash had celebrated. He grew up in one of the colonies, and Thanksgiving typically remained an American tradition. Most of red team, however, was American. In addition, Caboose liked to celebrate it, and Tucker enjoyed the food, so the Blues typically joined the Reds for Thanksgiving. For the past few years, Thanksgiving had just consisted of an extra helping of MREs. This year, however, Donut had managed to find the ingredients in Armonia, and both teams were going to celebrate.

Wash had been a little dubious about Thanksgiving. Up until a few days before the holiday, he didn’t know who’d be cooking it. All he’d heard was that Donut was insisting on a celebration, and had managed to track down all of the necessary ingredients. Really, he should have taken a break from training the cadets long enough to notice his boyfriend’s excitement. As soon as he’d heard that Donut was cooking, however, he’d begun to look forward to the holiday. He really hadn’t expected Donut to want his help cooking, though. Wash sighed, glad that Donut had decided to give him a chance to help. So far, it looked like Donut actually appreciated his help and his company.

"What’s wrong?” Donut asked, straightening and closing the oven.

“Huh?” Wash shook himself out of his daze.

“You sighed. Is everything okay?” Donut wiped his hands on a towel.

Wash nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just glad today is going well so far.”

Donut smiled brightly. “Me too!” He said. “I’m sorry for being upset earlier.”

Wash shook his head. “It’s okay. I’m just glad this is working out.” He opened his arms wide in invitation, which Donut gladly accepted. The pink soldier walked over to stand in front of the counter, between Wash’s knees, and wrapped his arms around Wash’s shoulders. Wash’s arms settled around his waist. Wash fitted their foreheads together, and they breathed softly for a few moments.

“Thank you for inviting me to help,” Wash whispered against Donut’s lips.

Donut smiled. “Thank you for helping.” Donut brushed their lips together and Wash couldn’t help grinning before kissing him.

They were broken apart a few minutes later when Sarge cleared his throat in the doorway. Both startled back a ways, Wash hitting his head on the cabinet behind him and Donut jumping out of his arms.

“Grif’s hungry.” Sarge grunted. Wash scowled and rubbed the back of his head where he’d hit it.

Donut rolled his eyes. “Dinner won’t be ready for another hour _at least_.”

Sarge crossed his arms. “You deal with ‘im then.”

Donut crossed his arms to mirror Sarge. “Tell Grif he can talk to Wash if he’s upset.”

Wash leaned back minutely and picked up the knife he’d been using to cut the yams earlier. He nonchalantly inspected it as Grif appeared in the doorway once more.

“So, uh,” Grif leaned in, eyeing Wash warily, “when’s dinner?”

Wash looked up, expression blank. “At least one more hour,” he said. He then began to twirl the knife around his fingers, satisfactorily noting when Grif’s eyes widened.

“Uh, yeah. Okay, um.” Grif paused for a moment, looking at Donut, who smiled innocently. When the orange soldier opened his mouth again, Wash jumped down from his perch on the counter. Grif yelped out a, “Thanks, bye!” and hurried back to the living room.

Wash’s shoulders shook with barely contained laughter as he walked over to the sink to clean the knife. Donut giggled before getting back to work on the green bean casserole, and Wash even heard Sarge chuckle minutely before walking away.

“Thank you for guarding dinner,” Donut said, “I really appreciate it.”

Wash shrugged. “Thank you for making dinner.”

Donut laughed again. “I actually like cooking. Especially when my boyfriend keeps me company and keeps Grif from eating it before it’s ready.”

Wash smiled warmly as he dried the knife and put it back in its drawer. He walked behind Donut and wrapped his arms around Donut’s stomach, resting his head on the shorter man’s shoulder. He made sure not to rest too much of his weight on the smaller man, but leaned happily into the warmth his boyfriend provided. They stayed like that until Donut had to move to check on the things in the oven.

Eventually, Wash began to bring things out to the tables. The Reds and Blues didn’t have a real _house_ in Armonia, but they had a rec room with a small kitchen attached. They had pushed the two coffee tables together and covered them with a sheet, and then put eight place settings on the edges. There wasn’t really enough room for all of the food, but Wash managed to cram it all together, put the place settings on the chairs, and still make the table look decent. He’d literally shoved Grif out of the room at that point, but the look on Donut’s face when he saw the table was well worth it.

Donut clapped and squealed, jumping on the balls of his feet. “It’s perfect!” He breathed.

Wash grinned. “Should we let them in?”

Donut laughed brightly. “Yes!” The pink soldier then did exactly that by flinging open the door and announcing, “It’s ready!”

The rest of the Reds and Blues came in and practically attacked the table. Donut just continued to laugh until Wash managed to snatch both of them plates, and they settled down together in the loveseat.

Eventually, they all settled down to eat. Donut sat sideways across the chair, with his legs covering Wash’s. Wash held his plate carefully above Donut’s knees. Sarge sat in his armchair. Grif, Simmons, and Tucker shared the couch, and Caboose sat in the rocking chair. Carolina sat in the other armchair, with Epsilon hovering over her shoulder. The excited chatter from earlier had died down into content murmurs.

Wash almost managed to keep up with Grif, until Grif went for fourths (and then fifths). Wash took fourths of the candied yams, but left everything else. Caboose had fourths, and everyone had thirds except for Donut, who only had seconds—and Church, who grumbled about not being able to eat before cheering on Caboose.

Tucker belched. “I think I’m gonna burst.”

Donut laughed. “That’s what you get for eating so much!”

Tucker shook his head slowly. “I tried to keep up with Wash and Caboose.”

Carolina shook her head. “That’s a lost cause,” she drawled.

Wash blushed. “I was hungry,” he said quietly.

Grif snorted. “Amateurs.”

“It was really good, Donut,” Wash said, putting his plate aside to rub at Donut’s legs. A chorus of agreements went up, making Donut blush a little.

“Aw, thanks guys! Watching people swallow so much is worth it!”

Wash coughed, Simmons groaned, and Tucker muttered a quiet “bow-chicka-bow-wow.”

They spent the rest of the evening talking quietly (with the exception of when the pie was brought out) and playing a few card games here and there, which Lopez even joined in on. After a little while, Wash slipped off to the kitchen with the plates. He put the leftovers in the fridge and was drying the last of the dishes when Donut draped himself against Wash’s back.

“Aren’t you tired?” Donut mumbled sleepily.

Wash smiled fondly. “Yeah, but I’m alright. I don’t mind cleaning up.”

Donut was silent for a little bit. “Thank you for helping out all day.”

Wash turned around and embraced the smaller man, resting Donut’s head on his collarbone. “Thank you for letting me help.”

Donut took a deep breath, tickling Wash’s neck. “Can we go to bed now?”

Wash nodded. “If you’d like.”

Donut pulled back a little to kiss Wash slowly. “What’d you think of Thanksgiving?” he asked when they broke apart.

Wash grinned. “I liked it. I liked it a lot.”

Donut kissed him again. “We’ll just have to do it again next year.”

Wash nodded. “I’d like that.”

Donut rested his head on Wash’s chest again. “Although, I have to cook for Christmas, too.”

Wash’s eyes popped open and he tensed. “I’ll have to keep Grif away from Christmas cookies, won’t I?”

Donut laughed, bright and tinkling. Wash grinned and kissed the top of his head. It’d be worth it, he decided, if it made Donut as happy as he was today.  

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on tumblr! agentfrecklelancer.tumblr.com


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